


Always Do Sober

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Culture, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-27
Updated: 2008-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't the moonlight or the sweet fruit punch. It was something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Do Sober

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Click For Full Size](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/000azpzt)

  
"The dance tells the story of two lovers from different villages kept apart by an old tradition that is no longer followed. The partners approach but never touch. They are mirrors of each other." Seated at one of the many rough-hewn tables set up around the village commons, Teyla leaned a little closer toward Rodney to whisper what she had learned as a young girl, stories exchanged while on a trading expedition with her father. Her lips curled up in a sweet smile as she watched the young men and women of the village weave intricate patterns in the flickering light cast by the central bonfire of the harvest celebration. "The two of the legend bowed to the pressure of their customs, but promised they would love no other for the rest of their lives, meeting once each year under the stars to exchange one kiss and renew their vows. They died on the same day years later, and they ascended to the sky where they shine down on all lovers, whether together or apart."

Looking up, Teyla pointed out the two moons hanging low in the night sky. "They chase each other endlessly, no longer able to share even a yearly kiss, yet still shining with happiness to see one another each night, apart but never completely alone." Her warm caramel face turned to Rodney's and her graceful hand dropped slowly to Rodney's shoulder to squeeze once before continuing its descent to her lap.

Uncharacteristically quiet, Rodney nodded his understanding, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile before falling back to their usual downward curve. His eyes left the whirling dancers to search the tables opposite, finally settling on the team's leader, who was sitting next to the headwoman's eldest daughter. As he watched, the lovely young woman touched John's arm softly to gain his attention, then offered him a refill of the sweet fruit punch everyone was drinking.

Everyone, that is, except Rodney. He'd been forced to slake his thirst with water because of the orange-like fruit that was a component of the mildly fermented beverage. Once again, his citrus allergy had prevented him from completely enjoying the festivities. Aware that most of the festival food could have been contaminated with the ubiquitous citrus during cooking or serving, he'd restricted himself to the herbed pit-roasted beast and a type of flatbread, both guaranteed free of the deadly allergen. Fortunately, they were also tasty and filling, so his complaints had been minimal and he'd managed not to offend the villagers...for a change.

"And that stupid custom? Do they still follow it?" There was a reluctant note in Rodney's voice. He hated his need to know the rest of the legend, but he had succumbed nonetheless. "Does this cheerful little dance at least mean that it won't happen again to some other star-crossed lovers?"

Teyla shook her head slowly and assured him, "The people have moved beyond their mistaken beliefs. They understand now that such a love should never be forbidden when lives may be cut short so easily, lost without warning. It would not happen in this time. Donal and Teran would stand handfasted and they would be allowed to live together without fear or regret."

A low rumble from the other side of Teyla made it clear that Rodney hadn't been Teyla's only audience. "Better. Those almost sound like Satedan names. Which was the woman's? Teran?"

Teyla's smile was as sweet as honey and her eyes shone with gentle mirth in the firelight. "Oh no, Ronon, they were both men...brave warriors who died at each other's side in battle."

 

. . .

 

"Rodney, let me in."

Rodney ignored John's demand for entry to his quarters, just as he'd deleted all the emails and avoided any possible encounters in the hallways and the mess. A few minutes of silence reigned before John resumed pounding on the locked door with an impatient fist.

"Damn it, McKay, I know you're in there! We need to talk!"

Fully aware of the other man's control of Atlantis' functions, Rodney wasn't really that surprised when the door slid open despite his explicit instructions.

 

. . .

 

The forest surrounding the village was dense and its foliage muted the sounds of the singing and dancing that continued late into the autumn-cooled night. Rodney stumbled to a halt next to a thick tree trunk and faced a darkness relieved only by the light of the two silver-bright moons high overhead. Feeling frustrated, after one too many glimpses of long white-gold tresses brushing across John Sheppard's arm and shoulder, Rodney had decided the shadows beyond the flames held a greater attraction. Pleading fatigue, he'd excused himself from the table, leaving Teyla and Ronon behind to eat, drink, and join the dancers if they pleased.

A slight crackle in the undergrowth behind him disrupted his sullen musing and he tensed. The hand that clapped down on his shoulder was a call to action. Only the sound of a familiar voice was able to abort his response before it was too late. "I thought you'd know by now not to wander off by yourself, McKay."

Carelessly shrugging off the intrusive grasp, Rodney took a step forward to insert some much-needed distance before answering testily, "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, there's no one out here, Colonel. Everyone else is at the feast. I just needed...some air."

"There's plenty of _air_ near the cabin we're staying in, Rodney. Come on. Let's go back before something decides you'll make a nice meal."

"I'm _fine_ right here. Why don't you go back to your latest conquest?" Rodney winced at the bitter edge that bled through his response, despite his attempt to remain unmoved and aloof. "I'll return to the village when I'm ready."

"Ready for what?"

Rodney shuddered as a warm breath stirred the fine hairs on the back of his neck. The sweet tang of the forbidden drink teased at his nostrils, his mouth watering despite his awareness of the danger a single taste held for him. The heavy heat of the other man's body reached his night-chilled skin, making it all too apparent that the distance Rodney had imposed between them was gone. Reining in his untoward response, Rodney dropped his head and muttered, "I just wanted to be alone. Was that too much to ask?"

 

. . .

 

Rodney stood in the center of his room with his arms crossed, his posture rigid and defensive. "It's late, and the locked door should have been a hint, Colonel." His lips thinned and drooped into a deeper frown before he snarled in aggravation, "Just because Atlantis rolls over and shows you her underbelly...."

"Shut the hell up and read this."

Accustomed to following his team leader's commands, Rodney reached out automatically for the laminated clipping that John thrust in his direction. Holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger, he silently read the yellowed obituary notice, his attention focusing on the section circled in faded red pen. Repeating the highlighted words under his breath, he frowned and handed it back, finally recognizing it as the bookmark he'd seen tucked inside John's much-neglected _War and Peace_. "Okay, I've read it. So?"

"My father wasn't much for writing letters. That was in one of the few he ever sent me while I was stationed overseas. Seems he thought it was an important life lesson." John snorted as he tucked the bookmark away in his back pocket. "Funny thing is...I actually agreed with him. Never thought I'd say that, so I keep it with me. I even read it myself, now and then, to remind me...."

Rodney interrupted the flow of words, his tone sharp with distrust. "Yes, yes, that's all fine and good, Colonel, but can you cut to the chase? Some of us have other things to do, important tasks to be completed before the city falls down around our ears."

 

. . .

 

"You already spend a lot of time...too much time...alone, Rodney." The warm pressure against Rodney's back tempted him, urged him to relax, to take advantage of the concealing dark. "Don't you get tired of it all? Don't you ever want something...more?"

Rodney jerked irritably, stung by the rasp of casually offered truths against his self-imposed barriers. "What I want and what I can have are two different categories. Leave it be, Colonel. Leave _me_ be. It's none of your business anyway."

"That's where you're wrong. It is my business. Why do you think I followed you out here? I watch you all the time, Rodney." A teasing whisper tickled Rodney's ear and he found himself wondering if the damp touch along the outer rim could possibly be a tongue. "Just like you watch me."

The slow glide of a hand down his arm left Rodney breathless with anticipation. Unable to resist, he leaned enough to let his back meet a waiting chest, his head dropping back to John's shoulder to expose a vulnerable neck. Another shudder rippled through him as John's chuckle vibrated low and deep when his hand encountered the pistol that Rodney held cocked and ready in his hand. Thumbing the safety back on before replacing the handgun in Rodney's holster, John murmured softly, "I stand corrected. You _have_ learned not to leave yourself quite so vulnerable."

Closing his eyes to block the light of the legendary moons, Rodney disagreed, shaking his resting head with a sigh. "I still make mistakes when it comes to you. Why else would I still be out here when you've obviously had too much...wine or mead or whatever that lethal drink is called."

 

. . .

 

"I'm not going to let you keep running away from me, Rodney. It's been almost a week and I've run out of patience. We're going to talk about that night, even though I _hate_ long discussions about...feelings and ...relationships."

"There's nothing to discuss. You had too much to drink, and you said a few things, pushed our friendship in a direction that you regret now. I understand. There's no need to apologize or to worry about me taking anything the wrong way. It's done...over...forgotten."

"The hell it is! I happen to subscribe to what was written in that article, it makes sense to me. That quote, 'Always do sober what you said you'd do when you were drunk,' means something to me as a man as well as an officer. I take my responsibilities to the team seriously when we're off-world. I would never jeopardize our safety by drinking enough to lose control. I did take a chance by following you into the woods, but it was a calculated risk on my part." He grimaced and ran a hand back through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled than usual. "I still contend that I wasn't drunk that night, but either way, I stand by what I said. I swear to you that I meant every word, Rodney. All of it...I want all of it."

 

. . .

 

"I'm not drunk. I haven't had nearly as much as you think I have, but I wish I hadn't had any because it means that I can't kiss you the way I want to, can't touch you the way I need to. I can't take a chance that I'll hurt you."

The passionate words riffled through Rodney's hair, prickled along his scalp and left gooseflesh behind as they stirred his heightened senses. He moaned and pressed backward, feeling John's hard length through the layers of cloth separating them. At the sound, both of John's arms tightened around Rodney's waist and one hand brushed gently across the front of his tenting pants, testing before stroking more firmly.

"I know you want this. I sat there and listened to the story of the dance, too. I watched Teyla tell you about the two lovers and I saw your eyes, saw how you looked across the fire at me. You hate the sight of me with anyone else, don't you?" John's beard rasped across the side of Rodney's neck as he murmured his soft, sweet persuasion, his hips thrusting against him in a gentle rhythm. "Tell me, Rodney. I need to hear you say it. Just admit it for once."

 

. . .

 

Rodney took a step backward, John's heat and vehemence leaving him feeling off-balance, unsure of his status in his own quarters. He raised his hands as if to ward off an attack. "I don't understand why you...."

"God, you're a stubborn bastard. I'm beginning to wonder if putting myself through all this is worth it. If I could forget what you felt like, how you sounded...but, damn it...I can't. I don't want to." Suddenly, John was there and Rodney was in his arms again and his lips stole all of Rodney's protests leaving him no more breath to argue. Rodney's hands curled into the collar of John's jacket, seeking an anchor in uncharted waters as his mind drifted free.

 

. . .

 

John's insistent words broke through the sensual haze and Rodney stiffened, pulled away with a harsh cry. "No! I can't...not like this." He staggered forward a few steps, keeping his back to John as he struggled to calm his breathing. "Please. Just go."

"What? Rodney, what the hell?" The harsh rasp in John's voice betrayed his frustration. "You want this!"

One of Rodney's hands came up to wave away John's protests while the other muffled his hoarse reply. "Not...not if you're going to end up claiming it was a mistake because..." He wheeled around and dropped his hands, his chin held high as he recovered his pride and composure. "...because of the drink or an impulse or maybe even the moonlight." He smoothed down his jacket and walked toward the village, carefully detouring around John as he stood in Rodney's way, still stunned by the sudden reversal. When John reached out, Rodney avoided his grasp with ease and a growled, "I said 'No'!"

 

. . .

 

"John...John...." Rodney couldn't find the words he sought, but John didn't seem to need any this time. He quickly fumbled Rodney's pants open and then he was on his knees with his mouth replacing his hands, his beard burning a raw trail across the tender skin of Rodney's belly as he sucked deep kisses across the pale flesh. Rodney's hands clenched in John's hair as he held him close, keening through his release, unable to hold back, drenching John's face and neck and shirt. He melted to the floor whining a broken apology, but John stopped him with a bitter salt kiss, pulling Rodney's hand down to bear witness to his own loss of control.

 

. . .

 

It wasn't a long walk back to the village, and Rodney headed straight for their assigned lodging, ignoring the quiet, steady footsteps behind him. Not bothering to light a lamp, he removed his boots, vest, and weapon before crawling onto his pallet against the wall. From what he could tell from the muted sounds across the small room, John did the same, and then the two men laid on their separate beds in the dark...silent, bitter, and alone.

 

. . .

 

They helped each other remove their damp, stained clothes, wiping themselves clean with Rodney's shirt. They crawled into the unmade bed, John curled around himself around Rodney, and they laid there in the dark...silent, content, and together.

 

fin

 

John's newspaper clipping held the following quote:

Always do sober what you said you'd do when you were drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut!

Attributed to Charles Scribner, Jr. - U.S. publisher. One of his rules of life, as told to his son, Charles Scribner 3d. Quoted in New York Times obituary (November 13, 1995).

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for the 2008 Kink/Cliche Multi-Fandom Challenge: Intoxication and altered states (aphrodisiacs; drugs or alcohol; sex pollen/spores; substances or devices that create arousal, affection, or dependency; speaking or showing the truth while intoxicated; visionary states).


End file.
